opulent
by mikitty bast
Summary: "You're taught to murder with swan-like grace and filled with lies of riches and fame only for the price of murder when you're six and you're taught to follow the Capitol's orders without a second thought." /written for Caesar's Palace.


**opulent**

* * *

><p><strong>I Find The Light In You - Joe Brooks<strong>

_There's something shining through  
><em>

_I find the light in you  
><em>

_Take my hand and we can beat  
><em>

_This glimmer of a dream_

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

_[1. I don't think there's a sun that's ever shone brighter than the radiance of you.] _

_._

* * *

><p>.<p>

Your name is Cashmere De'Montfront, you are named after the first thing your then sixteen-year old mother could think of at that time. You're born in the slums of District One, your younger brother born just six minutes after you. You will be raised in a District where they are remembered for their opulent and ritzy lifestyle, like the Capitol, and where they are trained like taught to murder with swan-like grace and filled with lies of riches and fame only for the price of murder.

You're born during the fifth day of the forty-sixth Hunger Games, when you're surrounded with heavy hearts and disappointed frowns as the District One tributes both die that day by the boy from Nine who goes onto win.

"She will be beautiful," your grandmother tells your mother once you're handed over to her. She brushes a hand over your cheek and gives what you can only believe to be a smile. She doesn't say a word though, only stares.

No one says a word about your brother when he is given to your mother, he only cries and punches the air when she is asked what his name shall be. She picks Gloss and the nurse smiles and leaves them.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[2. There's something shining through.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Your mother smiles and cheers you on during your pre-academy days where you're all tested to see if you can gain entry in the academy. You're taught how to hold swords, pluck an arrow, how to throw a spear correctly. You learn quickly and throw knives with ease, they feel natural in your hands. You climb to the top of the class quickly, knocking out the supposed "future victors" as they're called and become "knife thrower Cashmere". You blush and laugh off the silly name, making jokes about it and wave it off when your friends mention the name.

Gloss isn't like you though. That is known. He is nothing like you.

He handles the knives with shaky and sweaty fingers, holds and releases the arrow wrongly, and can barely hold a short sword without it falling on the ground and sometimes he goes down with it. He fails classes as you pass with little work and as he studies for nights on end, struggling to understand what they're talking about, you take only a single note and hope for the best. You pass - sometimes at one-hundered percent or eighty, but hey, you passed - while he almost fails and is laughed at and teased at behind his (and your) back about it.

He is much weaker than you, something you've always noticed about your baby brother. He is fragile with a delicate build that causes you to want to shield and protect him because you'll only always see him as the little boy that can barely raise a sword. He cries easily too. When the bullies push him around and laugh and tell him how much a failure he is and how he'll never be as good as everyone else, he only cries and prays for someone to save him.

You pretend you're a good sister for coming to his aid every time, that because you rush and beat up anyone and everyone that touched your precious brother. You pretend that when he crying into the crook of your neck, he knows you love him and that you'll protect him.

Gloss tries not to feel envious of you when you're accepted to the academy, top of the list, while they only accept him when your mother refuses to allow you to go if he doesn't come with you. She tells him that there was a-lot of children that year and they couldn't accept everyone, that he was extremely lucky that they allowed him to come, but you both knew the truth; he wasn't accepted because he wasn't good enough for them yet.

You tell him that one day, when he is older, he will be better than everyone here.

...but he does not believe you.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[3. Place your fingers into mine.]_

_._

* * *

><p>.<p>

Under the blankets, where you two laugh about silly things that fill your minds in pajamas that make you itch uncomfortably and in a secret language you've made up.

"Pum revo ug," you whisper to him as you rest your head on his side and you curls around your brother's body. _I love you._

"Pum revo ug tee, 'Volio." He repeats and closes his eyes and pulls your hand into his' and within seconds, small snores start. _I love you too, 'Merie._

Despite him being envious of you, of him wanting nothing more for you to slip up and fall from everyone grace, he really means it.

You wonder if he'll ever change his mind and say "Pum peniz revo ug" when you're both older. _I don't love you._

You pretend that he won't, not ever.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[4. It'd be like smothering a star.]_

_._

* * *

><p>.<p>

Years past, your body grows more muscled and lean and you bloom like a flower in the spring. You are a star with innocent, wide blue eyes and golden curls.

_And everyone seems to notice this._

_._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

_[5. Or covering a work of art.]_

_._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

Your first kiss is when you're fourteen. To the boy with the piercing blue-green eyes that liked to watch you train with knives everyday and flashed you a glowing smile and at you when you went by. His first name is lost in your memories, such a common name you remember. One of those fabric names that make you laugh, you were never a fan of product names. But yet, when it was his, you couldn't help but remember it as your favorite name.

The boy finally approaches you one day after training, puts his muscular arm around your shoulders and leans is close. He whispers sweet words and a promise for a date later that night. You smile and nod, because hey, everyone in the academy had a boyfriend or girlfriend and you wanted to know what it was like. Even if it was just one night.

You don't tell anyone though, your friends will get to know the details later if it goes well and your brother seems to be uninterested in what you're doing anymore.

You get ready an hour early and almost skip to your date spot. You both decide to meet where the smell on perfume and soap make your noses burn and throat itch, but you don't seem to mind it when you see him.

You give him your virginity, and ask if you can see each other again.

He only shrugs and says, "I'm pretty busy. I'll have to think about it."

You wonder why the boys at the academy seem to be paying more attention to you now and why he doesn't watch you train anymore.

.

* * *

><p>,<p>

_[6. I'm worn to the bone.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

You try really hard not to cry when your little brother volunteers, but you can't help but hide your face as fat tears roll down your face as your brother runs to the stage.

He was not supposed to volunteer, he was to stay in District One. He was never to volunteer.

But you were though. You were to volunteer next year, you were to win and come home with your twin safe and sound.

Still, you throw yourself into his arms and kiss his face, tears falling down your face and sobs escaping your mouth. "Y-you stupid boy! W-why would you d-do t-this?" Your fist get curled into a ball and you shake with anger at him. "Y-you're not supposed to do this!"

Gloss doesn't say a word at first, not at first, only hugs you close to him.

When the Peacekeepers come in to take Gloss away, he whispers into you ear, "Pum revo ug, 'Volio." And walks out the door with as much dignity he can, not letting a single tear fall from his face, and doesn't look back.

You cry yourself to sleep every night for the next few weeks and don't leave your house until the announcement of the victor.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[7. Without you.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Gloss wins and you scream and break down with happiness and cry in your mother arms for hours.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[8. It would be a fire forever tamed.]_

.

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

When it's your turn, you don't back down.

You pick out a small, knee-length white dress and wrap your hair up in an elegant bun. You look so beautiful, no one can deny this.

You stand proudly, with as much confidence as you can and when she calls for volunteers, you raise your hand and proudly declare, "I volunteer as tribute!"

_._

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[9. A burn without the pan.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The days pass quickly, it all seems like a dream for you anymore. Like, you're standing completely still, prepared for whatever, and everyone is running around scared and without a clue on what to do.

But you do though.

You know to smile and batter your eyelashes at everyone. To the males that allow you entrance in the Career alliance, the Caesar when he asks you questions, to the audience for sponsors.

You have been trained on what to do, and you're not fool to not use this knowledge.

So, when you're finally in the arena and when your throwing a knife in the little red-head from Six's heart, you remember that _this _is what you've been trained to do.

_This_ is what you've wanted to be and _this_ is what you are.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[10. Like you do.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

You win the Hunger Games by standing over the District Seven girl, who begs for you not to kill her because she needs to get back to her mother and that she is all her mother has, but you still grab the girl by her hair and thrust the dagger into her eye socket. You hope that her cannon booms quickly-

...and when it does, you remain stoic and merely let them plunge a needle into your neck and fall back into the Peacekeeper's arms and let yourself finally sleep.

When you finally wake up, your brother is the first thing you see. His hands hold your's and he wraps his arms are you and kisses your temple.

"Pum revo ug," he whispers and repeats it until he finally gains control of himself and lets you rest.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[11. There's something shining through.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

You wonder if your brother has to go though this, you wonder this a-lot when you're dressed in a small, lascivious dress that you attempt to cover up with your arms and a black jacket.

You meet your first client just three weeks after you win the Hunger Games, when your nightmares are still haunting you and everyone seems to want you. Your client is the Head Gamemaker, a forty-something woman with light pink hair and puckered up lips. She reeks of alcohol and doesn't stop saying that she could've picked anyone else to win the Games, but no, they picked the innocent, yet mature-looking girl from One instead of anyone else to win. That you only won because they wanted you too. You try to pretend that you won because you've trained harder than everyone else, but you can't help but think what would happen if you didn't get the training, would you still win?

When she's finished with you, you harbor your clothes and thank her, just like you were told to do.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[12. If we believe it we can breathe it.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

You wonder why Gloss is so distant anymore. Why didn't he tell you that he and the hazel-eyed victor from District 2 become a couple? You think back to when you were children and he'd tell you and your parents everything that happened, whether it be what he learned or that a girl had smiled in his direction, he was an open book with so many silly stories to tell and now, he wasn't. He was a book kept under lock and key, hidden away from the world. It hurt when you have to hear about it from a client when he asks if they'll have a Capitol wedding.

You can't answer the question.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[13. Breathe into me.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

You become a trainer in the academy when you become twenty-one. You watch doe-eyed, blonde pig-tailed little girls look at you in complete awe when you turn out to be their trainer. They follow your every word, smiling and giggling replace the typical sound of grunts from exercise and crying of the weaker students.

The girls you are given aren't meant to become Careers, these are the ones that are tossed back into the regular schools and told to work in the merchant stalls or help model clothes.

When all but one them fail the class, you couldn't help but wonder if this outcome would've been better for them than them possibly going into the games.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[14. Like you do.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The single girl who doesn't fail your class, Glimmer Jewelyn, begs for you to continue teaching her. Her eyes are filled with tears and she drops to her knees when you tell her no and watches you leave. She is weak, you tell yourself, she wouldn't survive in the Games. You can't help but wonder how she passed your class sometimes.

You're surprised to find Gimmer still practising in the academy when you're getting ready to go home for the next few years.

Her body gains more muscle, her knuckles are raw and cuts have imprinted themselves on her body.

You silently cheer the girl on when you see her training, telling her trainers how much she has improved since she was in her class.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[15. A heat that never warms the things.]_

_._

* * *

><p>.<p>

Glimmer is chosen as the offical volunteer along with Marble von Delight, someone you haven't seen around the academy but have heard his name a thousand times in the

You're selected as the mentor for this year. This will be your first year mentoring along side your brother.

Gloss wraps his hand around yours once you get into the Capitol and smiles gently at you.

Marbel and Glimmer shine in the Chariot Rides, tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. You feel proud of them, they seem to be winning in popularity until the two from District Twelve come out, they're bodies on fire and like a flame, the crowd's screams grow brigger and bigger.

You can't help buel a bit angry at District Twelve for this.

The rest of the week goes by quickly, like when you were watching your Games, only the important events seem to stick out. Training days is filled with pushing the two until their bodies ache and trying to get sponsors for them. You cheer and clap for the two when they get their scores and don't hesitate to brag about them to the other mentors. Once the interviews are over, everything seems to freeze into place and when it finally moves, it moves slowly enough for you to remember every detail from how many times Glimmer ran her fingers though her hair, nervous about something to the amount of times Marvel attempts to make a joke.

It's hard to forget the two of them; like every other victor you've known, you have flashbacks about them often.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[16. There's something shining through.]_

.

The Games announce themselves the following year and you're picked by the others to volunteer.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[17. And I wouldn't want one too.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

You skip and you twirl, you blow kisses to your fans and wink at the other victors.

Gloss holds your head throughout the pre-Games.

It feels just like old times during training until the arena.

You don't want it to end.

...but it will, you know it will.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_[18. I find the light in you.]_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Pum revo ug," the words slip from your mouth with ease as the cannon sounds for your brother.

Johanna swings her axe at you and your eyes begin to close.

Your arm stretches out and grab the axe's handle, your fingers wrapped around it with your nails scratching at the wooden handle.

There is a light in the distance golden blonde hair and baby blue eyes are the first things you see.

Words form at your mouth, they come out gurgled and blood floods your mouth.

Then –

…_nothing._

_._

* * *

><p><strong>Kitty:<strong> The ending looks so rushes and bad. Sorry about that. Anyways, this story was written (and re-written) for Caesar's Palace Johanna's Something Strange, Something Different contest. Thanks for reading!


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